Posts Tagged ‘bitch’

I can sum up this post in one sentence: I like to bitch about facial features of story characters even though I have no facial recognition (whaddup Prosopagnosia?).  Really, don’t bother to read this.  It’s confusing and weird and quirky.  Sure, some good pictures along the way, but really now, let’s not kid ourselves into thinking I’m humorous.

I have this super bad habit of trying to figure out what a character in a story looks like so that I can properly read a book and reinact their movements and gestures in my head.  But I also have a lot of trouble with facial recognition and imaging the right face.  This ends with me reusing the same male characters for just about everything or me scouring Google images in order to find something better.  It’s why you can see me reading A Great and Terrible Beauty but also parading Google in order to find better dress/hair styles for the characters or reading Dan Brown books while searching for the perfect picture of Johnny Depp to be my image of Robert Langdon (which Molly ended up finding for me, which was spectacular).

“Angels and Demons would have been a much better movie, had I starred in it.”

But let me sum up my lack of imagination and help I often need when thinking up how a character will look.  No, let me just explain how I reuse characters.  You know Howard Roark from The Fountainhead?  I put a beard on my image of Edward Cullen for that one (my Edward Cullen looked nothing like Cedric Diggory, by the way).  You know Joe Gargery from Great Expectations?  He happens to look identical to Simon in A Great and Terrible Beauty, but again, I added a beard.  And the protagonists from both Fahrenheit 451 and 1984?  Same exact person.  I’m so freaking lazy.

“Um, hi.  I happen to be Missi’s go-to-guy for every baddass character over the age of forty.”

“Hi.  I have a beard, which allows my character to be used even more times.”

But it’s infuriating for me to not picture someone as the character.  It’s easy for me to picture the women, and I can make it be a variety.  But the men?  I have to have them perfect.  Maybe it’s because I want to fawn over the book character, or maybe it’s because I’m just some type of OCD about the men of the story.  I don’t know, but it bothers me when I can’t come up with something right–especially for the guys my age in books.

So, it’s that kind of dilemma that I have hit while reading Great Expectations.  I’ve been able to come up with what every character looks like just fine–except the main character.  Pip.  Oh Pip.  What the hell do you look like?  I could imagine young Pip just fine.  A kid.  Easy.  But handsome Pip around my age?  Shit.  I haven’t a clue.

I could go the easy route and imagine a young Brad Pitt or Orlando Bloom or what-have-you.  But you know what?  I keep seeing the same thing over and over in my head.  This:

Why Barnes and Noble?  Why?  Why on earth do you ever put what you think a character looks like on my novel?  Why would you not give me the opportunity to try and figure out what Pip looks like?  Why would you ever give me this weird ginger kid to be Pip?!

I know, I’m obsered.  But imagine that you have a character that looks like this in your head:

And every time you open your book, BAM!  This is what you see:


I have enough trouble as it is imagining characters without the book itself trying to put yet another face into my mind!!

So, that is my dilemma that I have been bitching about in my own head.  Sorry you had to bear witness to it.  Sorry also to those who have seen my copy of Great Expectations and wondered what the weird mass was over the picture.  It happens to be a painting I made out of black paint and nail polish so that I wouldn’t have to see that guys ugly speckled mug any more (wait, Ron Weasley from Potter Puppet Pals?  No!  That would have been a great choice; not this rubbish).

So, there you have it.  I have to have the perfect image in my head of a character, but I have trouble when the books tell me what I should imagine.  GRRR!  FEAR ME, BOOK COVERS!

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(Note: I originally tried to hide this from third parties, but because of the drama and hurt I caused with it, I’m putting it fully into the open.  I better ready myself for deleting the spam comments.  There will be a follow up blog or two to explain some actions.  But you won’t see the full repercussions.)

Woah.  Just woah.  Where the hell have I been?  Has it really been more than two weeks since I updated?  Have I really said ‘ef it’ to everything online?  Yeah, turns out.  Somehow, I’ve ended up with only two public posts so far in May, which is a major turn around from my average of twelve, post-non-depression.  Oh wait, I’m sorry, let me put that in layman terms: I posted a shit tonne when I was depressed and stressed with school.  Now, I just sit in my room and internet around, or I’m flitting off with friends, having adventures and catching shit on fire.

Should I say that?  Adventures and fire?  Will that go against me?  We’ll pretend it won’t.

All right, making a mad dash to fill in crap.  Feel privileged–I haven’t even been writing in my diary because I’ve either been doing too much or just haven’t cared.  I guess that’s what summer does to you.  So, where do I begin?  Well, I’m still unpacking (my room looks ganky as fack; I can’t wait for everything to be put in its rightful place), I’ve hung out with my friends literally every day for nearly two weeks, and I don’t have a job.

Let’s start with the friends department.  We’ve been hanging out, catching up, blah blah blah: enjoyable.  Some friends and I meandered to the Renaissance Faire today (kick ass, let me tell you), have made far too many trips to Main Street, and have had a few get togethers that have all either ended in a bonfire or watching a movie or both.  Somehow, we end up adding gossiping like bitches and throwing dance parties into that mix, which then leads to trips to Steak and Shake in the dead of night.  I don’t know how this happens.

Something I do know that happens, and will most likely happen until the end of time, is that our friends will find gossip and drama to parade around.  Whether it be talking too much about the girls who are preggers or getting pissed off about not being invited to watch a television show that you don’t even like watching, we manage to claw at each other when backs are turned.

Now, I realise that this is just girl life (though how that ever became a standard, I’m unsure of), but damn it!  Can’t some people just hide their bitch-card once in a while?  For heaven’s sakes; I have a friend mad about not being invited to a small get together and another mad at me for eating a slice of pizza that I paid for.  And then the smart Facebook statuses full of complaints about it?  Really girls: get over it.  We’re all bitches to each other, so don’t feel so hurt.

I sound really negative, maybe on the edge of upset, but I’m not.  My mum even commented that I take social drama more maturely than anyone she’s ever met.  I don’t let my emotions get involved, and it’s why I am rarely disappointed or upset or angered over things that happen.  Not to mention that I accept the fact that I’m not everyone’s best friend and thus will not be invited to every little get-together.  I accept that I make other people uncomfortable at dance parties and that you’re afraid to touch me (unless you’re Alex, who decided to-hell-with-it and gave me a four second-long lap dance at a party because everyone else was too intimidated by me.  You win, Alex!).  I’m fully aware that people say mean things behind others’ backs then smile at them ten minutes later.  It’s kind of life, so I don’t get upset by this petty drama or how people treat me.  Getting bothered seems like a waste of time.

I guess I’m just trying to say that I wish others didn’t feel the need to be so upset by such small things.  No wonder heart-failure is so prevalent in this country: everyone is constantly moving fast and getting angry.  We all need to chill; have a Meditation With Missi day.  It will be glorious.  I promise.

Meanwhile, no job.  Not surprising, actually.  With this economy, even my friend who has applied for seventeen jobs can’t manage to grab one (and she’s one of the workers people should fight over).  You could say that I’ve given up without trying all that much.  After all, the Historical Society must need me in order to bring me in, and without the need, you might as well sit back and think of other things.  That ‘other thing’  for me has been painting.  I recently decided to start a miniature painting business (as in, I paint you a crappy picture for twenty bucks that you’ll probably hang in your dorm room).  It’s part hobby, part that I need the practise, and part summer job.  Maybe I can paint enough to have a little spending money for the summer (like, an extra fifty dollars, yo).  Nothing high-roller; I think of it more as bartering anyway.  You get a painting, I get a full tank of gas.  That sort of thing.

If you’re interested in purchasing a painting, let me know.  I’m best at abstracts and landscapes.  Give me the information, I’ll tell you size possibilities and prices.  We’ll work this old school.

Anyway, I can’t find much else to say.  This was more of a ‘let me fill you in and be a bitch along the way’ kind of blog.  And to anyone who would be upset by anything said: please take some time to chill and not let little things ruin your life.  You owe it to yourself.

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Hey, Kiddos.  Let’s have a chat about water, shall we?  Half inspired by this month’s National Geographic, half inspired by this morning’s events, I feel it’s about time.

Now, we’ve all hopefully heard the list of simple things we can do to conserve water: take shorter showers, do full loads of laundry, turn off the tap while brushing our teeth, et cetera.  The last one on there always seemed really obvious to me, and I wondered who would actually do that.  Well, this morning, while brushing my teeth in the community bathrooms of my hall, I witnessed the most terrible thing that dashed any hope that I had had for humans getting smarter:

I saw a girl leave the tap running at full for over three minutes while brushing her teeth and brushing her hair.  REALLY?  Are you fucking serious?  If I had known her better, I would have turned it off right then and told her not to leave that on when she didn’t need it.  In fact, I should have asked her to shut it off, regardless of the awkwardness that would have ensued.  And if it was earlier in the school year (you know, with more than nine days left before we all part ways), then I would put up a sign saying to turn off the water while brushing teeth.  But, seriously?  Keeping it on while brushing your hair as well?  How fucking wasteful can you get?  I had to leave to keep myself from blowing up.

I suppose that I’m a little more angsty about water waste at the moment since the current National Geographic is all about water.  There are so many examples of how a third of the world can’t get water and how wasteful people are who do have the water.  So, seeing the tap just running killed me.  That water must be cleaned again, will be lost in leakage (up to ten percent of water is lost in leaks in cities), and will take countless hours of energy to get back to that sink.  AHHH!  It drives me crazy!

So, here is what I want you to do: be smart.  Turn off the tap if you don’t need it.  Don’t use water bottles but refillable mugs/cups (I found out that a girl in my house goes to Walmart monthly to fill an entire cart of just bottled water for her family to drink when they go out.  That’s not cost effective, it’s terribly wasteful, and they don’t even recycle all of the plastic).  Don’t water your garden or wash your car if they don’t need it.

Little things can add up.  You’ll save money, there will be less waste (because, let’s face it, I’m the efficiency queen), and you shouldn’t find your day being any more trouble.

So, please!  Don’t brush your teeth while the water runs!  Or I’ll go completely crazy again and turn into Eco-Bitch!

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The Fashion Bitch

There’s a quote somewhere that says, “With blogs, never have there been so many people writing with so little to say.”  As odd as it sounds, I completely agree with this.  Blogs aren’t some new force to rival media outlets or really get your opinions out there.  They’re public diaries followed by close friends in order to keep in touch.  Sure, every once in a while, you’ll get a blog that is actually viewed by thousands of people, usually because they’re either about fashion or entertainment.

I’ll fully admit to lavishly looking through European fashion blogs about street style and the blogs of my friends, but I otherwise stay far from other people’s ramblings.  Which brings up a point.  If I don’t like to read blogs all that often, then why do I keep one?

In a way, it’s a vanity.  It’s the thought that someone out there will read it (even though I couldn’t care less), and I realise that many people start blogs for this express reason.  The reason I started mine was because I was behind in writing in my diary (which is not public in any form, may I add), and typing was simply faster.  So, I figured that I would keep a blog as a secondary diary when I had something interesting to say that maybe a wanderer would be slightly interested in.

Well, I’ve had my fair share of wanderers, and I’ve also had my share of friends read what I’ve posted.  But, it still comes back to “why do I really have a blog?”  I can’t answer that with anything other than the paragraph above.

And, here, I’m going to send you on another loop–I’m interested in starting a second blog.  Actually, interested is too light of a word; I’ve already started it.

As mentioned before, my guilty pleasure is to scroll through the pages of European fashion blogs (particularly Copenhagen Street Style and Dam Style) in search of what will inevitably be in style three years off.  Yes, the Midwest is three years behind European fashion and Japanese fashion.  Only in big cities (New York, Chicago, etc.) in the US will you see some of the newer styles.  So, you could call it interesting to see into the future.

Now, I’m not obsessed with fashion.  I don’t scour the malls for what’s just come into stock (because I don’t find American fashions appealing in the least bit).  But I will search Goodwills and thrift stores for the perfect shoes or skirt.  And I will buy things that are unique and then sew them up to fit better.  I like chic skirts with opaque tights, cardigans, and Rockport shoes.  And I’ve found that Europe seems to like that as well.  Granted, some of the styles are a little crazy (they will never be marketable to the US public), but I still like to muse over them.

I fully realise how vain I sound at the moment.  But let me sum this up in the best way possible: I dislike American styles and love European ones because they are more mature, classy, and unique.

So, let’s talk about the Midwest.  We’re one year behind the coasts, two years behind Japan, and three years behind Northern Europe.  Why is this?  Is it because we’re in a state of isolation?  Or is it because too many Midwesterners are content going to work, school, and shopping in sweatpants and an old t-shirt?  Occasionally, we see someone breaking that mould a little, but it’s not often enough.  Even on campus, I’ll see person after person in the same pair of grey sweatpants, and it saddens me to see the lack of originality.

Don’t take this as a slam, of course.  I want each person to wear what they want to wear.  It isn’t my choice to decide your wardrobe for you.  But, I have come under the thought lately that you should take care of yourself.  Take it from someone who dressed like crap for a good portion of her life, once you tug on something that is classy and mature and well-fitting, you feel a little better about yourself.  You may not feel rich and super-powered, but I find that you’ll respect yourself more.  So, it really all comes down to respect, I guess.  And if you really love your body, you’re going to want to treat it with nice things to show that respect.

So, this all boils down to the thought that I want to start a fashion blog called “Midwest Style Watch”.  It is a paradox, I realise, but I want to post photos that show that the Midwest is not only trying to catch up, but that there are people here who have interesting styles and quirks that you won’t find in an American Apparel catalogue.  Too many people get slammed for dressing “weird” when really it’s just another style that does not involve sweats and an Aeropostale shirt.  My goal is to show these individuals.

Now, it will be difficult.  It’ll mean carrying my camera at all times, finding the courage to confront people on campus to see if I can take their picture, and it will be a lot of work keeping up the blog.  But I am highly interested in starting this project.

So, wish me luck, and if you have any recommendations, ideas, comments, criticisms, questions, etc., they are greatly appreciated.  And when the blog is up and running, I’ll post a link.  Thanks, and watch for the fashion bitch. ;)

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Catherine and Wendy are gallivanting around the room, forgetting that Catherine has a room-mate.  They fix each other’s hair, play unpleasant music, and spread the smell of burning chemicals in the room with each passing of the curling iron over oiled locks.  Loraine sits in her bed, high above them, waiting for the time to herself.  But this time will not come for a while, so she drowns out the noise and smell the best she can.  A book lies on her lap along with a list of things to be fixed.  This is where she stays, this is what she does.  In time, she will be given the room in order to sit and think through the things that are bothering her.  In time, she may even get a room to herself for the entire year, with the women of the society pushed to the back of her mind while out of sight.  But these are muses of hers, used to keep her mind off of Catherine and Wendy’s laughing and the smells of burning locks being curled into unnatural ringlets.

Loraine doesn’t know how Mary and Wendy can live together.  They are so different from one another.  But, ironically, Wendy joins Loraine’s room-mate, Catherine, as friends while Loraine and Mary seek each other out.

“How interesting that we should be changing room-mates like this.  Almost like a swap,” Loraine mentions to Mary at breakfast.

“Yes, well,” Mary responds, “Those of similar personalities will often join one another.”

And they continue on, eating their boiled eggs and toast in comfortable silence.

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Here’s a little story:

There was a society of women that decided to live together for one year.  Each had a room in the house, lived together, ate together, and made friends.  Everything was smooth sailing until one of the women, Catherine, noticed something one day.

“It seems like Mary is mad with me,” Catherine said, and she swiftly worked on a letter to send to Mary to ask if she was down or mad with her.

Mary received the letter later in the day and was surprised.  She took it as an act of aggression towards her and was puzzled by what could have caused Catherine to write the letter.  Mary had never felt down or angry, so why would Catherine think such a thing?

Mary didn’t respond to the letter, but tried to ignore it.  But, later in the day, when Catherine was joking about a guest in the house, Mary took it with the anger that she already felt toward Catherine and decided to tell the guest exactly what Catherine had said–even though the hurtful things had been in jest.  Mary soon found out and was outraged that Catherine would do such a thing.

That’s when Mary went to Loraine to tell her what was going on.  Loraine, being friends with both Catherine and Mary, was not eager to choose a side.  She told Catherine to “be the bigger person”.

“But I’ve been the bigger person for far too long.  She’s angry with me, and now she’s treating me horribly!” Catherine cried.

Loraine shook her head, hoping that things would die down as Catherine left the room to write another letter to Mary.

Mary received the second later and became even angrier than she had before.  Why had this girl thought she was mad in the first place?  Well, yes, Mary was now angry, and she had told the guest Catherine’s words because of the anger, but she did not feel at fault.  Reading the letter, Catherine explained that she was now angry with Mary rather than just concerned, and Mary didn’t know what to do.

She, too, searched after Loraine for guidance and advice.  Loraine could offer none, not knowing that the second letter had been sent and received.

And that’s where we leave off for tonight.

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As I talked about in my last post, parties with my extended family usually don’t go well.  They either end with me being made fun of, me being ganged up on and then made fun of, or me falling in the mud.  Yesterday, all three occurred.

There wasn’t any making fun of my nerdiness, oh no.  They had something far more fun to tease at–my being a vegetarian.  When my aunt, who’s in the medical field, mind you, heard about me becoming a vegetarian for the health benefits, her only response was, “But, like, eating that healthy food all the time just isn’t good for you!”

She was being completely serious.  Later, she harassed me about my tofurkey, being a hippy for animals, and other related topics dealing with being a vegetarian.  This, of course, lead to her three children to also harass me.  And, you see, I can deal with her.  She’s just a 47 year-old with low self-esteem.  What I cannot deal with are her children making the same claims toward me.  My cousin, who is ten, has it in her mind that I’m the most boring, loser person in the world.

For instance, I sat in an arm chair and read some pages for my  psychology class.  We ended up having a conversation while I was reading, and I mentioned somewhere along the way that reading was fun when you had a good book.  This was immediately labelled as boring and loser-ish activity.  Later, when she said that she wanted to watch Twilight, and I told her to read the book before she see a movie based on the book, I was met with a scoff and a reply that I was a loser.

Hey now, I wasn’t the one who said that I wanted to see the new Twilight movie, ma’am.

And my tofurkey and eating the healthier menu options?  Of course, an echo of her mother’s statements.  Later, when I asked her what her dream job was, and she mirrored the question to me, I told her straight up: I’m working to be a psychologist and do counselling, but I would love to have a Travel Channel show where I go around the world and eat new foods and see cool cultures.  She said that was “stupid”.  I told her three good reasons why it was not: 1) You get to see the world for free; 2) You get neat new dishes for free; 3) You get to be on television.  She tried to challenge my statement: 1) Why would you want to leave America? 2) That food is gross; 3) They probably won’t like you.

Hmm.  Why would I want to leave American?  Because I want to experience the rest of the world, see what it has to offer, see different ways of life.  I want to get out of the suburbs, walk around 400 year-old streets, and meet people with completely different world views so that I can not only better myself culturally, but also understand the world around me.  Yes, not all food tastes good, but I tend to think that most of it does.  I’m not a picky eater like her (unless you count the whole meat aspect, now).  And, the last one was her failed attempt to get three.  People won’t like you.  Well, for starters, not everyone likes me.  I fully acknowledge that, and it does not bother me (it bothers her).  But, because I am an open minded person and because I make a solid attempt to understand other cultures, I’m pretty sure that most people would like me.  Besides, I’d even use the language when shopping or ordering food.  And, let me tell you, that made my trip to Germany so much easier.

I won the conversation, but she didn’t know it.  Nobody around did.  to them, their still closed mind means that they won.  To me, remaining open minded meant that I won.  Everything is a matter of perspective, I know.  It’s just that I’m thinking mine is right for the time being.

It simply infuriates me, though, that there are people like them who, if you don’t fit into their perfect, suburban, television drained world, then you are a loser.  It’s even more infuriating when the girl who calls you a loser, is actually the loser.  She hasn’t any friends.  She hasn’t any other hobbies than sitting in front of a television.  She just shoves her void of self onto other people, too, claiming that they are incorrect.  Don’t push your lack of self-esteem on me; it won’t work.  I’m smarter than that.  I’m more successful than that.

And, of course, the day ended with slipping in the mud and practically destroying ever piece of clothing that I was wearing.  I borrowed some of my grandmother’s clothes (whaddup Missi in thirty years?) and immediately drove home to wash the cakes of mud off both my clothes and myself.

But, I know that I shouldn’t complain about Thanksgiving, that was just a well needed rant.  Otherwise, things went well.  I got to see some family that I hadn’t seen in a while, was able to talk with my grandparents, and I was even able to read a few pages of psychology (though I’m still terribly behind).  That’s how it went, though.  I’ll tell you if anything changes for Christmas.

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